


We'll Always Come for You

by Deana



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fête des Mousquetaires Challenge, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 06:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5406941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deana/pseuds/Deana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis wakes tied up in the woods, the prisoner of an unknown foe...</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Always Come for You

Aramis had no idea where he was.

Voices had invaded his consciousness...soft, garbled words that he couldn't understand. His head felt fuzzy and his ears were buzzing. The view before him seemed doubled; two identical trees looming within view. It took him nearly ten seconds just to realize that his eyes were open.

"Why make it harder for us?" a voice was saying. "With that stuff we gave him, he won't wake for another hour, he can stay right where he is. Tying him to a tree is just a waste of time."

Another voice grumbled something in answer.

Aramis blinked, finding himself lying on his left side. His body felt heavy, and numb in spots where it touched the cold, hard ground. He noticed that his wrists were tied in front of himself, and adrenaline shot through his bloodstream as the situation finally caught up with his sluggish brain. His heart started to pound and he tried to figure out how to get away.

The two men were close to a fire, foolishly sitting with their backs to him. Aramis couldn't tell who they were, and he quickly tried to move, finding that his body was slow to respond. He wondered what exactly his abductors had given him...it was obviously something to knock him out. The fact that it should've kept him unconscious for another hour explained why he was so groggy, and he knew that he'd better escape now before he lost consciousness again.

It took Aramis a couple of minutes to get himself to his knees, and the exertion left him breathing hard, making him wonder once again what the substance was that they had given him. He tried to breathe quietly so they wouldn't hear him, and appeared to succeed. The fire was crackling, which Aramis hoped was covering up any sounds that he was making, and he finally managed to shakily stand and stumble away into the woods. He was so disoriented and lightheaded that he had no idea where he was going. He didn't recognize his location, and gray spots kept invading his vision as the unknown substance in his bloodstream kept trying to steal his consciousness. He forced himself to continue on, not letting himself consider stopping until he was far enough away.

Aramis tried to recall what had happened to him. He remembered being in the tavern with his friends last night—at least, he _hoped_ it was last night—but then he didn't remember anything after. Had something been slipped into his wine?

Suddenly, Aramis' legs threatened to buckle and he fell into a tree, leaning against it as he gasped for air. His brain was spinning, his head was aching, and his body was shaking from the effort that it took to remain standing. He didn't dare sit down, knowing that if he did, he wouldn't be able to get back up. Eventually, he started to slide down the tree as his consciousness started to drift, and he came back to himself with a jolt, having no idea how long he'd been slumped there. Quickly, he pushed himself away from the tree and stumbled on, wishing that he had the coordination to try getting the rope off his wrists. As he ran, he wondered just how long he'd been missing, and if his friends were looking for him. _Of course they are,_ he told himself. _But do they know where to look?_

Unexpectedly, Aramis heard angry voices yelling...his escape had been discovered. He realized with shock that there were more than two men; obviously all of his abductors hadn't been sitting around the fire, just the ones who were meant to guard him.

The air was abruptly split with the crack of a gunshot, and Aramis tried to run faster, his heart feeling like it would beat right out of his chest. _Athos, Porthos, d'Artagnan... if you're coming, you need to get here_ _now_ _!_ he thought to himself.

The sounds of men chasing him reached his ears, and another gunshot sounded. A searing pain filled his left arm and he fell, awkwardly landing on his left leg, twisting his ankle beneath himself. He gave a cry of pain and somehow got himself to his feet, trying to run but unable to on his twisted ankle. He fell again and bullets sailed over his head. Having no choice, he stayed down.

Galloping horses suddenly appeared ahead of him, and Aramis realized that he was surrounded. He had no doubt that he was about to be killed, and he could only lie there and pray to God to help his friends with their grief.

Bullets started flying again, and Aramis made his peace with God and braced himself for more pain. He didn't feel anymore bullets hit him, which he thought was strange, but his consciousness started to waver again and he lost awareness of what was happening until hands suddenly grabbed him and turned him over.

Aramis vaguely felt hands manhandling him out of his jacket, but it wasn't until someone touched his bullet wound that his brain seemed to come back to himself, and he groaned from the pain.

"Aramis!" he heard. He realized suddenly that it wasn't the first time he'd heard his name being called, and he blearily opened his eyes to see Porthos' worried face above him.

The faces of Athos and d'Artagnan swam into focus a second later, and Aramis was so relieved that he nearly passed out. A hand abruptly tapped his face, and Aramis wondered if he _did_ pass out.

"You came," he croaked.

All three of the others frowned.

"You thought we wouldn't?" said Porthos.

Aramis couldn't find the right words in order to explain; the foreign substance still coursing through his bloodstream was making it hard to think. He simply lay there trying to catch his breath as they wrapped the wound in his arm, unable to remove the bullet until they got back to the garrison. It didn't hurt as much as it should, and he knew that, ironically, he had the drug's disorienting effects to thank.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Athos asked.

Aramis didn't answer. His half-opened eyes looked glazed as he stared at nothing, and his pupils looked bigger than normal.

Athos assumed that Aramis had a concussion and felt his head for a bump. He found none, but it was obvious that something was very wrong with him and he tapped his face again. "Aramis, what did they do to you?"

Aramis moved his head slightly. "Poisoned," he mumbled.

"What?!" Porthos exclaimed.

"No...no," said Aramis, realizing that he'd used the wrong word. "Not poison."

"Drugged?" said d'Artagnan.

Aramis closed his eyes with a nod.

"Let's get him back to Paris," Athos said. "Aramis, can you stand?"

"What?" Aramis mumbled. He felt like he was floating.

"Can you stand?" Athos repeated.

Eyes still closed, Aramis mumbled, "No."

Porthos got his arms under his friend and lifted him before setting him on his feet.

Aramis gasped and his injured leg buckled. "Said no," he reiterated.

Porthos held him upright. "I thought you meant you couldn't get up, not that you couldn't stand once you _were_ up." He pulled Aramis' good arm around his own shoulders and helped him limp towards the horses.

It was a real struggle to remain conscious, and Aramis again wondered what his abductors had dosed him with. Everything around him started to fade into the background and his legs must've buckled again, because Porthos suddenly hefted him up higher before passing him to someone else. Eyes closed, his brain drifted until he was suddenly being pushed and pulled atop a horse. He felt someone sitting behind him, and knew that it was Porthos. With a tired sigh, he let his head fall back against his friend's shoulder.

"You all right?" Porthos asked.

"I am _now_ ," Aramis answered. The horse started to move and he relaxed, knowing that Porthos would never let him fall off.

"What did you mean before, Aramis?" Porthos asked.

"Hmm?" Aramis shifted slightly and winced from the pain that he felt throughout his body.

"When you said 'you came'," Porthos clarified. "You sounded so surprised."

" _Was_ surprised," Aramis mumbled, only half-awake.

Porthos stopped his horse, confused. "Aramis, we're your brothers, we'll _always_ come for you."

Athos and d'Artagnan stopped their horses too, listening to the conversation.

Porthos' distressed tone pierced through the effects of the drug, and Aramis opened his eyes, seeing everyone's upset expressions. He shook his head. "Didn't mean that," he said. "Don't know how you...how you found me." His words were mumbly as fog filled his brain again.

Everyone relaxed now that they understood, and kicked their horses into a walk again.

"What matters is that we did," said Athos.

"And not a moment too soon, looked like," said d'Artagnan.

"How long was I..." Aramis paused with a frown, unable to think of the right word again.

"Gone?" said Athos. "You didn't report for morning muster, and your bed had not been slept in."

That still didn't tell Aramis much. The sky was cloudy and the temperature was cold…it could've been morning or afternoon for all he knew.

"We'll explain everythin' to you later, once you're all there in the head," Porthos said. "If that's possible, anyway."

D'Artagnan chuckled.

Aramis smiled, and as the gentle sway of the horse lulled him to sleep, Porthos' words came back to him: _we'll always come for you._ "I know, Porthos," he mumbled sleepily. "I know."

THE END


End file.
